[Davy allows himself a slight smirk at the nattering comment for how true it is, before he breathes deep against his pipe, soothing his prickly nerves down]

There is nothing in my life that has meaning any longer. Life now is nothing but a long, slow trudge to the grave. Bloodshed - the suffering of men who are not myself - is one of the few pleasures I have left. It allows me to recall the days when I was feared and free.

That is why I bother.